


a surfer's angel

by zaworlduh



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Engagement, Family Bonding, M/M, Meet the Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-17
Updated: 2019-08-17
Packaged: 2020-09-06 08:30:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20288494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zaworlduh/pseuds/zaworlduh
Summary: After Shiro met Lance, he swore he’d never surf again.Now, there’s more to the story than simple rejection. In fact, it’s not even because he almost drowned the first time he gave it a go.One minute, Shiro was trying to stand on his board during a particularly high wave. The next, he was lost amongst the saltwater, eyes tearing with terror as the ocean devoured him and rendered his world black.He probably should have learned to swim properly first.





	a surfer's angel

**Author's Note:**

> a piece i did for the shance wedding zine about a year or so ago, not even sure. it's been forever but i still love this to pieces, so i hope you enoy!

After Shiro met Lance, he swore he’d never surf again. 

Now, there’s more to the story than simple rejection. In fact, it’s not even because he almost  _ drowned _ the first time he gave it a go.

Lance and Shiro first laid eager eyes on each other at Pensacola Beach, Florida. Shiro on a business trip, and Lance a local surf instructor that just happened to be working the three to seven shift that evening. At twenty-five, feeling invincible, Shiro stripped everything down after work to learn to surf. It’s something he’d always wanted to do, and with his life rushing away with every moment spent cooped in that office, he figured he’d have one of those ‘screw it’ moments.

Before they even got out on the water, Lance took things slow with them on land. At the time he was just Shiro’s teacher. Not a potential lover,  _ nor  _ a potential husband. It all changed once the students attempted to become the masters, making first contact with the ocean. 

_ And oh, how unforgiving it was. _

One minute, Shiro was trying to stand on his board during a particularly high wave. The next, he was lost amongst the saltwater, eyes tearing with terror as the ocean devoured him and rendered his world black.

He probably should have learned to swim properly first. A rookie, but he had the faith of a disciple. 

Regardless, at the cusp of death, he was violently awoken by what could have been an angel. It was the first thing he saw, with a burst of sunlight and the choir singing in his head. That angel took the form of a toned Cuban man with dark brown curls and a smile that could drag his soul out of his body.

Shiro thinks that’s when he fell in love, but he doesn’t let Lance know that. For them, the official start of their relationship was four weeks later. And Shiro has yet to look at a surfboard since, merely because if he were ever to drown again, Lance wouldn’t be the one to save him.

Lance insists that it’s nonsense, but Shiro is firm in his decision.

“I can just skydive, or snorkel.” He’d ramble, “I don’t need to surf.”

Their first  _ real  _ encounter holds a special moment in Shiro’s heart. It deserves to remain special the whole way through.

Shiro watches his fiancé with intrigued eyes as he lounges on the shore of Varadero Beach, endlessly fascinated with his ability to maneuver the climb and descent of the ocean. He couldn’t hope to achieve such a feat if he  _ tried _ . Lance’s talent is beyond anything recreational.

The two flew into Varadero a night ago, in preparation for meeting Lance’s  _ entire  _ family. They already did Shiro’s round, most of his relatives living in the United States. It’s only really his parents and some stray cousins here and there, but all that really matters is that his mother and father  _ love  _ Lance.

Now, it’s his turn on the chopping block.

Lance drags himself out of bed at four in the morning to surf; something about the waves ease his looming nerves for the night. Surprisingly, his fiance has shown to be more nervous than him.

The sun is just beginning to rise when Lance comes in from the tide tousling his windswept hair, his body covered in small droplets of water and goosebumps. Beautiful as ever.

He drops his surfboard to the side, scrambling into Shiro’s lap with sandy feet that neither party minds.

“Hey baby,” he murmurs, kissing him sweetly, the taste of saltwater and adventure on the tip of his tongue. Shiro hums as he slots their lips together, pulling away for a moment before coming back for seconds.

“Mm, hey,” Shiro greets him eventually, placing a string of kisses on his suspecting lips. Lance eventually slips beside him on the lone beach chair, plastering his damp body onto Shiro’s.

“I feel a lot better,” he expresses, “that was good surf. I feel it in my bones.”

“You have nothing to worry about,” Shiro coaxes his love, “your parents have met me before.”

“But not as my  _ fiancé _ .”

“Regardless, Lance. Nothing’s changed. I just bought you an expensive ring, which you’re—not even wearing.” Shiro huffs incredulously, motioning to Lance’s hand with dramatic flair as he makes his face up, “ _ Wow _ .”

“Are— _ okay _ , next time I’ll lose it in the ocean. Will that make you feel better?” Lance huffs and Shiro giggles, cradling his face with his prosthetic hand and pressing their lips together once more.

“Let’s go,” Lance utters upon breaking the kiss, “I wanna take a nap before we meet them for dinner.”

Shiro nods, taking his lover’s hand and letting him assume the lead back to the hotel room.

#

Shiro usually never wore chinos. Or white button ups. But it puts an extra sparkle in Lance’s eyes, so he slips on the outfit in hopes that it will have the same effect on his family. 

“You look good,” Lance attempts to reassure him again, “I mean,  _ I  _ think you do.”

“That’s all that matters, then,” Shiro reaches to straighten his collar, pulling at the freshly ironed corners, “you’re related to the people I’m trying to impress.”

The calming strip of sunlight that crawls into their hotel room relaxes him. That, and Lance’s ocean breeze cologne that had been sprayed in the air a few minutes ago. They had napped before, curled into each other for hours before they begrudgingly began getting ready for the night they had been anticipating since their early start. 

Though their getaway has a purpose, Shiro can’t remember the last time they relaxed. His job keeps him overly occupied, and when he  _ does  _ get time for a date night, all he can muster is falling asleep on the couch during  _ Mission Impossible _ . He tries to make it up to Lance as much as he can, but even as his schedule loosens, he never feels it’s enough. 

Tense. He’s tense, and mulling over their minor grievances in the wake of their evening activities.

“Takashi,” Lance smooths his hands over the scope of his shoulders lovingly, bringing Shiro from the depths of his mind, “you have nothing to worry about. They already love you, sweetheart.”

“It’s going to be different this time,” Shiro argues, lightly. He combs a hand through his hair, noting the slight quiver, “before, I was just your lackluster boyfriend. Now I’ll just be your lackluster husband.”

“You’re not lackluster.” Lance presses a kiss to the corner of his lips, “and I just said that they  _ love  _ you.”

“Regardless, now we’re ready for the next step. The  _ forever  _ part of this relationship. And now they’ll know that. It’s gonna be a different atmosphere.”

Lance nods knowingly. Neither of them are naïve to the obvious differences between the trips. They’d just rather ignore it. There really  _ is  _ nothing different, like Shiro said down on the beach. Just that Lance would be sporting a little more jewelry than usual. And they’d be saying  _ husband _ , instead of boyfriend. 

“Honestly,” Shiro purses his lips, “it just— _ nothing  _ has changed for me.”

And when Lance glances up at him in question, he doesn’t stop.

  
“I mean it. I’ve known for a long time that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you.” He says it with confidence, his fiance’s tricky fingers tugging him closer. “Since I almost drowned. You looked like a fucking angel. It’s—you’re impossible to forget.”

“You’re the real angel, you know that?” Lance says with a flutter of his eyelashes.

They kiss, somewhere in between knowing that they’ll be okay, and realizing just how hopelessly in love the two of them are. It’s a revelation that both of them have probably been aware of for a long while, really. 

The journey to Lance’s family home is a picture pulled out of a summer clothing catalogue: Shiro drives and Lance pushes his head out of the window, singing whatever song plays out of the rickety radio. The rental car may not be a Mercedes, but it’s perfect. It gives Shiro a glimpse into the future that’s a bit more realistic. 

Lance can’t sing. His voice cracks on every high note and drops a bit too low at times, but Shiro wouldn’t have it any other way. He can’t sing, but he’s smiling, the radio cuts out every few seconds, and Shiro’s shirt is starting to stick to his chest, but they’re going to be married in a few months. And it couldn’t get better than that.

When Shiro eyes light blue shutters from his peripheral vision and hears a deep exhale from his fiance, he knows they’ve arrived. He backs into the driveway, peering out of the rear window as he attempts to park their rental.

“You’re getting too close,” Lance warns quietly from his seat, leaning forward. “You’re gonna hit Luis’s car.”

“I’m fine,” Shiro hums, furrowing his brow, “just gotta make sure I’m not in the road.”

“Shiro…”

_ He’s fine.  _

“Shiro—!”

The car bumps against the front of Luis’ car and Shiro’s foot flies off the gas. The two of them gape for only a moment before Lance opens his mouth again.

“You’re  _ fine _ , right?” A mixture of sarcasm and blatant annoyance creeps through his words, and Shiro winces, avoiding his eyes. It’s only when he hears a familiar, sacrificial sigh fall from Lance’s lips that he turns. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, “I guess I’m a bit more nervous than I assumed.”

“I mean…” Shiro tries— _ really  _ tries—to joke as he turns the ignition off, “it couldn’t really get any worse than hitting your brother’s car?”

The look on Lance’s face tells him to shut the fuck up before he gets smacked, but he smiles regardless. 

“It’s not like the day we met, right?”

At that, Lance’s smile eases back onto his face before leaning across the dashboard to bring them into a kiss. Shiro sighs, opening his mouth and letting himself melt into the addictive warmth of Lance’s lips. He’s sure he would have gripped his hips and tugged him into his lap if there wasn’t a tapping on the window behind him to interrupt.

They draw back as quickly as they came together, a chuckle huffing from Lance’s parted lips. He waves at his young niece and nephew, a wild blush spreading across his cheeks.

“Why did it have to be them?” He cringes, but Shiro laughs regardless.

“C’mon, babe.” Shiro slips out of the car, making sure to hug them before crossing the distance to open the door for his fiancé.

“What a gentleman,” Lance rolls his eyes, but allows Shiro to brush his lips atop his knuckles anyway. It’s an old pastime for them; Shiro would always open doors for Lance until the latter eventually put an end to it. He’s a fan of chivalry, yes, but he doesn’t like the sense of obligation that comes with it. Either way, things flow easy between the pair.

“Lance!”

Shiro watches blue eyes flicker to Lance’s mother, Esmeralda McClain. A vision, truly, for her age. Short but silky brown hair chopped to her shoulders, bright eyes that practically mirror his fiancé’s, and the warmth of the sun in the space between her arms. Not to mention, one of the bright stars in Lance’s life.

“Mamá,” his smile could split his face wide open, “it’s so nice to see you!”

“It’s been too  _ long, _ mi amor. What did we say about staggered visits?” His mother manages to scold him while welcoming him, and Shiro can’t help but admire it.

“I’m sorry,” Lance whispers into her hair, “work has been a bit overwhelming. But I’m here now!”

“Because you have an agenda.” Her face says it all—pursed lips and rounded eyes, turning to Shiro and holding her arms out to embrace him, “Shiro, it’s great to see you again.”

“You too, Mrs. McClain.” Shiro inhales a sweet whiff of home cooking and apple cinnamon before drawing back from Esmeralda. Her sunny disposition fails to wilter as she turns towards the house, waving a curt hand in their direction.

“Well come on! Dinner’s still hot!”

#

Shiro gazes at Lance from behind his UNO cards, his fiance mirroring the mischief and betrayal in his eyes. Dinner is long over, the younger bunch corralled to bed so those over twenty-one could have their own fun. Luis had slipped out of the house to pick up whatever alcohol he could chase (with a hefty amount of money from Shiro’s wallet. “A down payment for the car,” he described it as), which led to the group of adults squeezing themselves in Esmeralda’s tight living room for a hearty, yet heartless, game of UNO.

He takes a long sip from the beer he’s been nursing for what could probably be a second hour. The bitter liquid had turned from chilled to room temperature quickly, sustaining itself while Lance managed to chug his way through three bottles. 

“Shiro…” Lance murmurs, placing down a red reverse card, “I know that look.”

“What look?” Shiro asks, a playfulness peeking through his feigned innocence. Lance studies Shiro for a little longer, his sapphires scanning past his stare down to the hand that holds his last three cards, teetering back to his furrowed brows before he’s shouting. His beer is close to toppling over, but he gets the message across to his other family members with little effort.

“He has a plus four! He has a plus four  _ don’t let him go! _ ”

“Lance how do you even know?!” Veronica takes a heavy swig from her beer, “You’ve been shouting random shit for the past hour—”

“No—Veronica listen  _ listen _ , I know.” Lance motions to Shiro with his hand of twelve cards. “He’s plotting something. It’s the prank face! Trust me!”

The game circles back to Shiro, who places a green seven down to coordinate with the new color.

  
“Lance—”

“ _ Wait for it _ .”

Shiro finds that he enjoys the competitive side of Lance’s family more than the compassionate side. He’s lived through this exact scene two or three times; games, alcohol, and the tearing of tight knit cousins, siblings, husbands and wives. The beauty in it, though, is that despite the curses to hell they exchange, they’ll still come together with even more love they came in with. 

Lance puts down a plus two, effectively hurting his younger sister’s card count. Shiro can’t help the laugh that bubbles from the growing pit in his stomach. Veronica skips Luis, and then the spotlight is on him once more. He places down his plus four.

“UNO.”

“ _ See?! _ ” Lance shrieks, to which his mother shushes him from the kitchen, hissing a sharp, “ _ Los niños!” _ that silences them in record time. It draws all the attention from the game to Esmeralda, who glares at the group of adults before each of them nod in acknowledgement of her fierce command.

“Sorry.”

Shiro can see the wound inflicted upon Lance’s joy, but he only smiles sympathetically, reaching for his hand and pressing a kiss to where his fingers and his knuckles meet.   
  


“No romance in UNO,” Veronica says sharply. Shiro holds his hands in the air, signifying defeat as the others chuckle in hushed breaths, “save it for the end.”

“Then let me win this so I can be romantic again.”

The taunt does well with his not-so-tough crowd, a chorus of ‘ _ ooo _ ’s circulating throughout the room. Even Lance dips his toes into the action, sending a taunting—but  _ very  _ sexy—wink his way.

“Confident, Shirogane,” Luis comments, throwing his play onto the pile of cards with an extra helping of McClain dramatism, “let’s see if you can put your money where your mouth is.”

A blue six. Shiro grins, toying with his green six. He places it calmly, stomach churning with glee as the realization that he’s beaten  _ all  _ the McClains dawns on him, as well as his opponents.

“UNO out.”

“ _ Damn! _ ”

The fallout happens in ways that would have Shiro rolling if he wasn’t trying desperately to keep emotional composure: Lance throws his remaining cards into the heap, getting up and storming outside. Veronica throws her head in her hands and starts cursing in an endless string. Luis sits with a parted mouth, unshakable shock etched in his face upon the understanding that Shiro has indeed put his money where his mouth is. There’s a certain joy that comes with defeating such a competitive family, but he’s been happy the entire time, so the candle is dim in comparison.

“I need something stronger.” Shiro hears him murmur after a couple minutes, stalking away to the kitchen. He sticks around to clean up, making sure the living room is clean before heading to join Lance. He’s thanked with a kiss on the cheek from Esmeralda before she’s sending him off to spend time with her son.

He finds Lance outside, perched on the porch swing that hangs from the second story balcony. From here, there’s a magnificent view of the backyard, the land behind the house vast, each square inch filled with healthy grass and lined with flowers of all hues. Shiro leans against the door frame, his shoulder digging into uneven wood. “Are you sick?” He grins, eyeing Lance’s bottom lip that protrudes in a way that only concludes petty, childish pouting. It’s still cute, he thinks.

“Don’t talk to me,” Lance snorts, “you took my glory.”

“If I can’t talk to you, I don’t think we can get married,” Shiro teases, slotting his wider body beside Lance.

“When the pastor asks us questions, we just nod, and I kiss you. Easy. You can read my vows in the Instagram post.”

“ _ Wow _ .” Shiro’s eyes widen, backing away from Lance with a baited grin, “Guess you don’t even need me.”

“Oh come  _ here _ ,” Lance tugs his hand back in his direction, “you beat my entire family,  _ including  _ me. It’s like you’re already one of us.”

‘One of us’ is something he’s heard on numerous occasions. The compliment is more worn out than one would expect, coming from a boyfriend. But living within the timeline where they’re engaged gives the small comment a heavy weight that Shiro can feel himself willingly crumble underneath.

“You alright big guy?” Lance says quietly, pushing back on his feet and letting the hammock rock back.

Shiro hums gently, followed by a nod that’s meant to assure himself more than Lance. “Yeah, I’m alright.”   
  
“Doesn’t sound like it.”

A comforting hand laces with his, Lance’s fingers folding over his healing knuckles. He’d bruised them at the gym at least a week ago, battling a punching bag that proved to be ever so resilient. He’d gotten a proper scolding for it, but with it came a press of his lips to his skin, and a silent ‘I love you’ that only Shiro was meant to hear.

“I am. I’m… _ so  _ alright.” He counters.

“What makes you say that?” Lance scoots just a bit closer. Their thighs press together, a tight, paper thin vacuum between them all that remains. Shiro’s hand slips from Lance’s to wrap around him.

“We were wrong.”

“We were?”

“Yeah, we were.” Shiro continues, gentle with each word, “Nothing changed. Miraculously. Your parents still love me, and your cousins, and your siblings…”

“I didn’t doubt that, sweetheart,” Lance hums gently, “I just… thought things would shift into something a bit heavier. But it didn’t happen. Frankly, I’m kind of happy it didn’t.”

“We’re just putting rings on our fingers and calling ourselves husbands instead of boyfriends,” Shiro says, “I don’t think it  _ has  _ to take that serious route. We’re still gonna be…us.”

  
“Of course…” Lance trails off. His face is suddenly a thousand times closer than it was a mere ten seconds ago, cautious, but caring eyes peering at his fiance. Shiro can smell home cooking and the Japanese cherry blossom candle that burns in the back of the kitchen on his skin.    
  


“I can’t wait to spend Christmas down here.” Shiro tilts his chin, bringing their lips together quick. “And—and Easter—”

“We don’t celebrate Easter, doll.”

“Can we? I am just…  _ so  _ excited to marry you,” Shiro says on an exhale, winding his fingertips around Lance’s hip, “I think it’s actually starting to hurt.”

“I can’t wait either…” Lance sighs into the humid night air, “I wish the time would just…sneak up on me like college did.”

There’s another pregnant pause that filters into the space between them, and it’s welcome. Shiro’s nails card through Lance’s hair, individual digits curling about the strands that would hang in the wrong places.    
  
“You know we have to make your niece the flower girl, right?” Shiro eyes Lance, pleased to see a knowing smirk curving onto his goddamn perfect lips. 

“That’s not even a question. Of course she is.”   
  
“And your nephew?”   
  
“Ring bearer, without a doubt.”

“Good,” Shiro hums, “glad to see we’re still on the same page.”

“We’ll always be on the same page, love.”

Shiro can’t resist kissing him a couple—or, a few—more times before melting into the worn cushion that decorates the porch swing that he’s heard countless stories about. Of Lance falling off and hitting his head at the feeble age of three, or when he’d come out to his mother at fifteen, bawling his eyes out and wiping his snotty hands on the very cushion he laid against. 

So many memories, but he wanted more. More that involved  _ him _ , if he were to be selfishly specific. Shiro wants to sit on this same porch swing, his hair grey and his bones weak, Lance still slotted perfectly between his arms. He hopes to have a thousand more stories to tell in this very spot. Every single one of them filled to the brim with Lance McClain and every precious thing about him.

#

Veronica isn’t sure how long she’d been watching Shiro and Lance. It wasn’t intentional; she just happened to be in the right place at the right time, nestled right in between their moment. She sat on the backyard’s resident tire swing for an hour or so, watching the two men shift from hushed conversation, to gentle affectionate kisses before fatigue cast its spell. 

Now, at almost midnight, darkness has captured the vibrant island of Varadero. A darkness that seemed to bounce over her brother and his fiancé. There’s a light that bursts from where they sit that can truly never be dimmed.

  
“Aren’t you going to go inside, mi hija?” Veronica turns to her mother, who holds freshly dried sheets in her hand. She must have come out awhile ago, to retrieve the laundry hanging from the clothespins not too far from where she sits. 

“Is it wrong?” She asks suddenly, letting her heart’s cry free, “Is it wrong that I’m jealous of him?”

“Of Lance?”

  
  
Her mother is fully attentive now, resting the sheets on a bench perched not too far behind them.

“Not  _ of  _ him. Just… of what he  _ found _ ,” Veronica continues, “the way Shiro looks at him…it’s from the  _ movies _ , Mamá.”

Her lips curl into a knowing smile. She braces herself on the tire swing, her gaze falling upon the two sleeping men.   
  


“He got lucky, didn’t he?”

Veronica sighs. “Hell yeah.”

“Language,” she scolds, unwavering. “I know that you’re happy for him. And I promise you, that every single one of my children will find a man or woman like Shiro to spend the rest of their lives with.”

“What makes you say that?”

A hearty hum flutters into the humid air. Esmeralda only smiles, wrapping a secure arm around her eldest daughter. She says it as if she planned every word from the moment they were born. 

“I’ll only give your hand away to someone that looks at you the way he looks at Lance.”

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on [tumblr](https://cabriesun.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/cabriesunz) for more content.


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